Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“Nice deflection.” He crossed his arms over his chest again, and of course, she was distracted by the way his shirt sleeves pulled snugly around his bulging biceps.
“Fletch, I said I’d think about it.”
He considered her with his lips pressed tightly together. A few seconds later, he shook his head like he was shaking something free.
Most likely his annoyance.
“Crew called me and told me about a biker bar where some of the Demons hang out. But it’s not only them, the bar welcomes anyone wearing colors as long as they don’t cause issues. Figured we could go there wearing our cuts and hang out for a bit. Maybe make some conversation and contacts. Keep our eyes and ears open.”
“Where’s it at?”
“Just outside of Uniontown. A little dive called the Hawg Wild Saloon. It seems it’s becoming a regular drinking hole for some of the Demons. Especially since they’re looking to establish themselves in that area.”
“When are we going?”
“Now. So, go do what you need to do to get ready. You’re going full biker bitch tonight. Plus, you’ll be wearing my name on your back.”
“No, Kitten will be wearing Ghost’s.”
When a grin spread across his face, she wondered if she should be worried about what it meant.
Chapter Sixteen
Fletch sat back in his chair in a dimly lit corner watching Nova do her thing. Playing pool, making conversation, throwing her head back and laughing loudly. Anything to attract attention from the bar’s patrons.
His eyes continually scanned the interior. It was dark, dank, and full of bikers overdue for a fucking bath. He needed to smear some Vicks under his nose to drown out their B.O., the pleasant aroma of stale vomit and eye-stinging cigarette smoke.
When they first walked through the door, Fletch had spotted the empty corner table. A perfect spot to see and be seen. He had slipped his hand under Nova’s cut and onto her lower back to steer her over there and settle his ass in for the evening.
Taking a page from the outlaw biker’s handbook, he ordered her to fetch two beers, making sure to do it loudly enough so anyone nearby heard him. He had noticed her head jerk back at his order before she took a visible breath and slipped into her role.
When she turned to head to the bar, he smacked her ass sharply and gave her a cocky grin. “Takin’ that later,” he called out to her.
He focused on the “Property of Ghost” patches on her back as she made her way to the busy bar, all eyes on her as she moved with an over-exaggerated swing of her hips and badass bitch attitude seeping from her pores.
Of course, that tempting rock and roll made his gaze slide from her cut to her ass.
Fuck. He really did want to take her ass later.
Then he realized he wasn’t the only one sitting in that bar thinking the same thing.
He needed to concentrate since they were in enemy territory. Enemies to both law enforcement and possibly the DAMC. As far as he knew, the Angels didn’t have any current rivals now that the Shadow Warriors MC disintegrated into thin air, but that didn’t mean other MCs weren’t out there with a beef against them.
Either way, he needed to stay on top of his game. So did Nova.
He kept his eyes on her as she squeezed her way between two smoking bikers with big beer guts sitting at the bar so she could place an order.
And wasn’t one of those fuckers brave enough to touch her damn ass?
Fletch dug his fingers into his thighs and forced himself to keep his own ass in his seat.
She could handle it.
She could.
He needed to let her handle it like a biker chick would.
For fuck’s sake.
This bar might end up being a regular hangout for them until they could make the right connections and earn the Deadly Demons’ trust.
If he fucked it up tonight by punching that bastard in the throat, effectively making enemies within the first five minutes, they’d be dead in the water with this particular lead.
If that happened, he’d never hear the end of it from Crew.
Nova said something to the guy as she leaned into the bar and planted a boot on the bottom rung of the handsy motherfucker’s stool.
Whatever she said had the man taking a closer look at the rockers on her cut and then glancing over his shoulder at Fletch before shooting him a grin that needed to be wiped off his unkempt bearded face.
Fletch unclenched his jaw, forced his own grin and yelled out, “Sweet, huh?”
The fucker gave him a nod and a thumbs up.
Fletch wanted to shove that fucking thumb deep into the dude’s eye socket.
He internally screamed, “He touched your fucking ass!” when she returned to the table with two draft beers. Somehow he managed to swallow it back down since he could safely guess she wouldn’t appreciate his response and after that, probably would never have a shot at seeing her naked again.